


A Trail of Breadcrumbs

by BelladonnaLee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Drinking, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Mind Games, Romance, Seduction, Smoking, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22738048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaLee/pseuds/BelladonnaLee
Summary: One late December night, Albus follows a trail of garments from his front door to his drawing-room, where Gellert is sitting by the fireplace, a glass in his hand and a smile upon his lips.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	A Trail of Breadcrumbs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
> 
> A/N: A belated Valentine.

When Albus trudged up the front steps and into his house one late December night, he found a leather glove lying on the rug in the dimly lit entrance hall, a shrivelled dead thing. Several paces away lay its twin, equally limp and abandoned. He knitted his brow, for he had no memory of being in possession of these gloves.

Stooping down, he picked up the gloves and turned them over. Ordinary gloves that they were, they held not a scrap of clues that might point to the identity of their original owner. Albus, however, had an idea, and he decided to play along to this game that his mysterious visitor had set up for him.

At the fork of the hall, the narrow staircase on the right led upstairs, a door on the left led into the dining-room, and a corridor led further into the house. A black coat lay on the ground at the mouth of the inner corridor, carelessly discarded. In the dim light it resembled a mourning dress.

Taking a deep breath, Albus picked up the coat, and after a moment of hesitation, he pressed it to his face. The woollen coat smelled of smoke and sandalwood, a scent that stirred up a pang of yearning in him. They had been so close back then, he and that certain someone, so close he could taste the cigarette smoke in that certain someone's breath.

Returning to himself, he draped the coat over his arm and followed the trail of garments deeper into the bowels of the house.

Halfway down the corridor, he found a slightly crumpled tie, curled like a snake. It was dark as a midsummer night and silken to the touch, a sensual thing that had wound around a certain someone's neck—a neck that even now he longed to touch. With a self-deprecating smile he threw the tie atop the coat and moved on.

At the end of the corridor stood two closed doors at an angle to each other: one into his study and the other into his drawing-room. There was no more breadcrumb trail, for there was no need anymore. Firelight trickled through from the space under the drawing-room door, tell-tale sign of which door led to the end of his chase. Steeling himself for what he would find, he opened the door and stepped inside.

A fire was lit in the hearth, its golden light falling upon the figure slouching on the armchair, a glass in his hand and a smile upon his lips. The top of his white shirt was left unbuttoned, his throat bared for all to see. His green waistcoat hung loose and undone on him; his tall black boots gleamed darkly on his legs. There was something at once elegant and savage about him. In spite of himself, Albus felt his heart skip a beat at the sight.

"Good evening, Albus," Gellert said while raising his glass. "I took the liberty of liberating this from your cupboard. It's been gathering dust." With that he tossed off the drink in the same careless manner as was old. "Would you care to join me? Or are we going to have our duel right now?"

Without a word Albus placed the bundle of Gellert's clothes on the sofa, took off his own coat, crossed the room, and sat down on the armchair opposite Gellert. Smiling a pleasant smile, Gellert poured out some more firewhisky into his own glass and handed it to Albus. After casting Gellert a sidelong glance, Albus took the glass and drank from it. He did not often drink firewhisky, and it burnt his throat. Nevertheless, the sensation gave him a shadow of savage pleasure.

"I received your greeting card." Gellert conjured a new glass out of thin air and helped himself to some more firewhisky. "I didn't think you would send me a card after all this time."

"I didn't think it would reach you," Albus said quietly, his gaze lingering over Gellert's throat and the bare skin under the shirt. "But I wanted it to reach you." His tone became ever so wry. "It takes less time and effort to send out a card than looking for you in person."

His face devoid of expression, Gellert narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed upon the amber liquid in the glass, and his head tilted ever so slightly as though listening for movement outside the window and in the corridor. A few beats of silence later, he chuckled a little and regarded Albus with a look of amusement and a glint in his eyes.

"Yes, it was the perfect bait." There was a mirthful note in Gellert's voice. "You would not come to me, so of course I could not resist coming to you. It would have been the perfect trap too." He contemplated Albus with veiled eyes. "It seemed a waste not to take advantage of it."

"Perhaps I already have." With that Albus smiled a knowing smile of his own. "Are you here to kill me?"

"Hmm..." A lazy quirk of a smile; a suggestive gaze. "Not tonight."

When their eyes met, blue meeting blue, Albus and Gellert shared a conspiring smile not unlike that between partners in crime, even though they were anything but partners. It was a game of chess: they were reading and decoding and predicting the other's moves. For the first time in a while, Albus felt a thrill in his spine. Gellert had always managed to draw out his darker nature, a side of himself that he had no need to hide in front of Gellert.

"Mind if I smoke?" Gellert asked, a cigarette between his fingers.

"Not at all." With barely a thought Albus conjured an ashtray and placed it on the small table between him and Gellert. "Although I prefer something sweet myself."

A ghost of a smile played about Gellert's lips. "We all have our vices." He put the lit cigarette to his lips, took a drag, and exhaled a whiff of smoke into the air. "How does teaching suit you?"

"I dare say that I have learnt more while I teach than when I was being taught," Albus remarked lightly, his words eliciting a chuckle from Gellert. "I see travelling suits you well."

"There is no need for sarcasm, Albus." That said, Gellert did not seem to mind. He gulped down the rest of the firewhisky and raised his empty glass in a mocking toast. "It is fortunate that I am not a wanted man in Britain yet. It would have been most inconvenient."

"However inconvenient it would have been, I don't doubt that you would find a way somehow—as you always do," Albus said, half sardonic and half serious.

"Because you chose to settle down in this place."

With a pang Albus looked down at his glass for a heartbeat or two and finished the last mouthful of firewhisky; it burnt as much as Gellert's words. "And if I had indeed lured you into a trap?"

With an abstracted expression Gellert tapped cigarette ashes into the ashtray and smoked some more. The tip of the cigarette glowed orange, a spark liken to a firefly. As he let out a sigh in contentment, a breath of smoke escaped his parted lips. "It is a risk I am willing to take," he said mildly.

Pressing his lips together, Albus took out his wand and gave it a casual wave. A bottle of mead materialised before him in the air, floating like a lost soul. Feeling Gellert's gaze on him, he grabbed the bottle and poured himself a drink. The mellow sweetness of the mead soothed his throat, but it could not chase away the bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

"You always say what I like to hear," Albus whispered, resentment intermingling with flickers of longing.

"You, on the other hand, rarely say what I like to hear."

Without ceremony Gellert sprang to his feet and stalked up to Albus. Taking away Albus' glass, he knocked back the mead, put the glass on the table, and all but straddled Albus. A whiff of sandalwood and smoke teased Albus' senses and chased away the words he had meant to say. His eyes fell upon Gellert's collar-bones and naked skin, and ever so discreetly he looked away.

"You found me," Gellert murmured as he held the cigarette to Albus' lips. "Name your reward."

His heartbeat racing, Albus sucked in a breath and gazed into Gellert's blue eyes, eyes that held a hard glint in their depth. Stricken with a spell of defiance, he caught the cigarette between his lips and inhaled. The familiar taste of tobacco reminded him of a time when he was eighteen, arrogant and hopelessly in love, a time when he shared everything with Gellert, be it cigarettes or sweets, secrets or dreams—secrets and dreams that he had confided to no one else.

"Stay here tonight." Albus held Gellert ever so loosely in his arms, as though keeping a distance, as though keeping Gellert with him on this long and lonely night.

A faint smile played about Gellert's lips. "As you wish." After taking a long drag of the cigarette, he tilted his head back, blew smoke towards the ceiling, and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. "I left something in your bedroom." And he murmured a few words into Albus' ear, his warm breath tickling Albus' skin and sending a thrill down Albus' spine.

Only Gellert would play such a mischief on him; only Gellert would offer him the intimacy he longed for but dared not seek; only Gellert _knew_. Gellert was his secret keeper and his Achilles' heel. It was a dangerous game, Albus knew, and yet he could not resist the temptation.

"I fear you forgot to leave a map for the treasure hunt," Albus muttered.

Gellert shook with silent laughter, a tremor Albus could feel all too keenly. "If you had ignored the trail I left behind and gone up to your room first, you would have received a pleasant surprise." Ever so playful, Gellert pulled off Albus' tie and carelessly dropped it to the ground. "Hmm, this is better."

Albus felt warm, indecently warm, though whether it was because of Gellert or the firewhisky he could not say. He reached out like a man in a dream and traced a path along Gellert's face with his fingers, from the high cheek-bone to the curve of the neck, his very own treasure map.

"What do you wish for, Gellert?"

With narrowed eyes Gellert contemplated Albus for a moment or two before he reached out and stroked Albus' bearded chin. "For you to have a shave. It prickles." When he saw the look on Albus' face, he grinned. "But I would not object to a comfortable bed." With that he produced a bottle of French wine from nowhere. "My Christmas present to you."

Unable to help but smile, Albus accepted the bottle of wine. It appeared Gellert might have been to France recently, but he doubted Gellert would tell him what he was doing there or whom he had met. "Thank you. I cannot say if the bed shall be comfortable for you, however."

"Let us find out then. Shall we?"

In one smooth motion Gellert got up and offered his hand to Albus, who took it after a beat and let Gellert pull him to his feet. As if he were the host, Gellert led the way, retracing his trail of breadcrumbs—from the drawing-room and into the dimly lit corridor, and from the corridor to the fork of the hall. A lamp cast a soft glow over the space; the encroaching night lurked in dark corners.

At the foot of the staircase, Albus impulsively grabbed Gellert's arm. A flicker of surprise came and went upon Gellert's visage, and his eyes, blue as the sky and just as unfathomable, met Albus' gaze. Without a word Albus leant forward and kissed Gellert's lips, which tasted of liquor and cigarette smoke. It was a strangely intoxicating taste.

A beat of stillness later, Gellert tilted his head ever so slightly, the better to meet Albus' kiss, and he snaked an arm around Albus' neck, the better to hold him close. For one disconcerting moment, Albus had the strangest sensation of falling through the air, and there was nothing to break his fall.

When they drew apart, Gellert flashed Albus a strange smile and climbed the stairs, light-footed and unhurried. His mind caught in a whirlwind of anticipation and trepidation, Albus stared at the figure ahead of him. A heartbeat or two later, he followed along—up the stairs, through the shadowy corridor, and into the cold, lightless bedroom that was the final destination of the breadcrumb trail.

A pair of hands caught Albus and guided him further into the room, and Albus, a wolf in sheep's skin starved for food and love for a long, long time, embraced his hunger and ventured further into the dark.

* * * * * * *

The sound of persistent tapping carried Albus away from his dream and back to the world of the living, and with a sense of premonition he opened his eyes. Firelight stirred in the morning gloom; a bottle of wine and two glasses glinted on the bedside table. Gellert was not here; he had disappeared with the night.

As the hole in his heart widened, Albus dragged himself out of bed, threw on a dressing-gown to cover up his modesty, and put on his slippers. In spite of the blazing fire in the hearth, he felt cold, and everything around him seemed somehow unreal. As the tapping persisted outside his window, he went over and drew the curtains apart.

In the blue twilight of dawn, a barn owl perched outside the window and stared at Albus with dark, unblinking eyes. There was a letter tied to its leg. When Albus moved to open the window, the owl took to the air, and as soon as the window was open, the owl flew into the room, bringing upon its wings the winter chill. Landing on the back of a chair, the owl held out one leg to Albus.

"Good morning." After relieving the owl of the letter, Albus gave the owl a piece of cold ham. "I shall send my reply later in the day."

The owl made a sound in acknowledgement and gratitude, and turning its back on Albus, it flew out of the room and was soon lost in the clouds. Shivering in his dressing-gown, Albus closed the window, broke the red wax seal, and read the letter by the fire.

"Good morning, Albus. Are you being called away?"

His heart skipped a beat, Albus looked up and found Gellert leaning against the door, a smile on his lips and a tray balanced on one hand. Gellert was fully dressed, and a familiar-looking tie was wound around his neck. It was a moment later that Albus realised the tie was the very one he himself wore yesterday, the one Gellert had taken off him last night.

"No," Albus replied absently as he folded up the letter and placed it on the mantelpiece, his body heating up at the memory of kisses and caresses and enveloping warmth. "And good morning to you too."

"It is a good morning indeed. I made tea." Gellert placed the tray on the table and poured tea into the cups. "I remember you take milk and sugar in your tea."

His body moving of its own accord, Albus crossed the room and caught Gellert from behind. As he breathed in the scent that was uniquely Gellert's, the hollow in his heart was filled once more—the hollow that only Gellert could fill. In this room of firelight and shadows, Gellert was real; he was neither a vision in the mirror nor a ghost in the dark.

His face hidden from all manner of scrutiny, Gellert remained silent and still in Albus' arms. A moment later, he leant into the embrace, his body fitting into Albus' body as though he were Albus' missing half, as though Albus were his missing half.

"There is still wine in the bottle," Gellert said, his hand stroking Albus' arm with the tenderness of a lover. "I shall make you some heated wine tonight."

* * * * * * *

_Finis._


End file.
